Blood Loss
by Sam.J.Eller
Summary: Dean takes care of his little brother after Sam loses a significant amount of blood. Tag to 10x19: The Werther Project. Hurt/Caring/Sam and Protective/Caring/Dean.


Note: I couldn't help it. Hope someone likes it. Spoilers up until 10x19 The Werther Project. Enjoy! :)

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"Come on Sammy, stay on your feet."

"I'm trying Dean. I'm dizzy."

"Yeah well, that's what happens when you bleed yourself dry."

Sam sent me a squinty look, which appeared to be a lame attempt at a bitch face.

But that one expression must have cost all of his concentration because he stumbled shortly after.

"Whoah, take it easy Sam. Take it easy." I muttered as I steadied the lanky young man, dragging his non-damaged arm over my shoulder and placing a hand on his hip to tug him against me.

"M'okay Dean." He declared drowsily, stumbling again as we entered the bunker.

"Yeah, you're terrific." I grunted, taking more of my brother's weight.

The kid was drained.

He had been able to fake lucidity long enough for me to get him outside and settled in the Impala, he even managed to sound okay for the first few minutes of the drive.

But soon after, the "I'm fine" illusion crashed and burned as his hands started to shake and the dizziness hit, leaving him as uncoordinated as a newborn foul; long limbs seemingly out of his control.

He'd lost too much blood, enough that I had seriously contemplated a trip to the hospital.

Unfortunately, Sam had been quite coherent at the time and had insisted it wasn't necessary. I disagreed, but then my little brother had softly reminded me how doctors tended to react to patients who came in with slit wrists.

Twenty-four hour psych-holds.

Sam and psych-wards didn't fit well together.

Nor did Sam and restraints.

I groaned as I looked at the stairs leading down into the bunker.

So many damn steps.

"Alright buddy, I need you to stay on your feet for just a little while longer." I instructed, taking as much of Sam's weight as I could as his wobbling knees struggled to hold him.

"Kay Dean." He mumbled, attempting to straighten up and take a little more of his own weight.

"I'm ready." Sam declared, steeling himself for the task.

I shook my head in fond exasperation.

This kid.

He was pale, shaky, and chilled to the touch from blood-loss; he shouldn't have been able to remain upright let alone march downstairs.

But Sam was a Winchester and as stubborn as they come, so if he felt the need to conquer all those steps, he was damn well going to do it.

"Good. Don't pass out. I'm not carrying your princess ass down all these stairs."

Sam chuckled at my comment, but obediently maintained consciousness as we made our descent.

The second we arrived at the bottom, my brother's knees buckled.

"Whoah! Hey Sam. Come on now kiddo, don't go all sleeping beauty on me just yet."

"But I'm tired."

"I know buddy, so let's get you to your room. Then you can lie down while I patch you up. Just a little further Sammy." I encouraged softly, directing us toward his bedroom and practically lugging my kid brother down the hall.

"Okay Dean." Sam whispered, his hair brushing against my face as his head hung down, his body trembling with the effort of remaining upright.

I slowed my pace so the injured man's shuffling feet could keep up, but as we neared the threshold to his room, Sam's long limbs betrayed him again.

"I got you little brother." I promised, holding him up.

"Sorry De-" Sam muttered, his chin resting on his chest as his feet struggled to gain purchase on the floor.

My heart clenched violently at the shortened version of my name, the version that always made an appearance when my little brother was hurting.

"It's alright Sammy. You did good." I assured him softly.

I more or less dragged my lanky little brother into his bedroom and laid him out on his mattress.

"Damn, sasquatch, we need to get you a longer bed." I observed, bending his legs so they wouldn't hang off the edge.

He muttered something unintelligible as he attempted to roll onto his side.

"Hold up Sam. I've got to stitch you up man." I said, pressing him onto his back and propping his head further up onto the pillows.

I covered him up with the blanket, hoping to stave off shock, and then went to grab the first-aid kid and a bottle of Gatorade.

I rushed back, thankful to find my brother still conscious, but looking dazedly at the book still clutched in his hand.

"Here buddy, I need you to drink this." I instructed, opening the beverage and handing it to Sam, guiding it to his mouth when I realized he didn't have the strength to hold it steady on his own.

"That's my boy." I praised, pulling the bottle away once a satisfying amount of it's contents had been swallowed.

"Thanks." Sam rasped tiredly, letting his head drop back onto the pillow.

I pulled the desk chair next to his bed and gently tugged his injured arm toward me.

The hasty bandaging job that had been done appeared to have helped slow the bleeding, but it hadn't stopped it.

"Here Sam. Take these." I ordered after dumping a couple of pain pills into my hand and holding them out to him.

My brother looked as though he comprehended my words, but when he went to take the meds, he neglected to realize that he was still holding that strange book.

"I'll trade you."

I went to remove the object from my brother's hand, only to have him tighten his grip on it.

He was using more strength to hold it than he should have been capable of in his present state.

"No. No. I need it." Sam argued hastily.

"Calm down man. I'm just going to put it on your desk." I placated, tugging insistently at the book.

The man lying on the bed pondered my offer, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before nodding and reluctantly releasing the object.

I did as I said and dropped the book onto his desk, knowing for a fact that Sam knew something about it that I didn't.

But the mysteries of the seemingly treasured object were not my main concern.

Sammy was.

"Here."

I dropped the pills into my brother's waiting palm and held the Gatorade out so it could chase them down.

"Good. We'll give those some time to take effect before I stitch you up." I reported as I untied the field bandage from around my brother's arm, grimacing at the sight of the deeply sliced skin beneath it.

"Shit Sammy." I cursed, as I focused on examining the still-seeping wound.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I questioned distractedly.

"Had to...had to do it, was...was th-the only way." He uttered drunkenly.

"Yeah I got that, but damnit Sam. You didn't have to cut so deep." I grumbled, my concern with my brother's injury coming out as anger.

"Had to bleed fast. That was the only way to save you. I had to save you."

I wasn't expecting any answer from my fading little brother, let alone one so honest.

"Had to do it Dean." He repeated, hazel eyes trained on me, imploring me to believe him.

"Well you did it. You saved me."

Sam shook his head lazily in disagreement.

"No. You saved me. You're always saving me." He stated, a small smile fluttering across his weary features.

"Nah, I just finished what you started." I replied, ducking away from the grateful gaze I could feel on focused me.

"We saved each other." Sam declared confidently through gritted teeth, his arm twitching in pain as I began to wipe away the pooling blood.

"We're brothers." I said, because that's all there was to it.

No further explanation was required.

A comfortable silence settled over us as I cleaned up my little brother's arm, scowling at the blood that reappeared every damn time I dabbed it up.

Stitching skin together was always easier when you could actually see past the flowing red liquid to what you were doing.

"I don't think you have a disease."

I glanced up from the butchered limb to see a dazed, but sincere expression staring back at me.

"What?"

"Before when you were saying bout a puppy with a disease, and killing, and how I look at you."

I knew what Sam was referring to, even through his scrambled speech.

"Sam-"

"I look at you like that cause I'm scared. Not cause you're diseased."

It felt like a machete had just pierced my heart.

I let my gaze fall back to my brother's injury, not able to meet his soulful eyes right then.

Of course Sam was scared of me.

He had every right to be.

I was a demon, I tried to kill him, and now with the mark...and what Cain had said.

How could the kid not be scared of me?

Hell, I was scared of me.

I just, I never thought I would hear Sam admit it.

I never thought that I would hear my little brother, the one person I had spent my entire life protecting, tell me that he was afraid of me.

"Look Sam. I know you're scared. But you don't have to be alright?! I won't let anything happen to you. I won't hurt you."

Because I wouldn't, no matter what I had to do to prevent it, I would not hurt Sammy.

"Dean?"

I risked a glance back over at my brother, never able to resist his call.

Sam looked confused, which wasn't surprising, there was no doubt the blood-loss was making everything a little hazy.

"I'm not scared of you."

Yup, he was definitely confused.

"Dude, you **just **said-

"I said I was scared. I didn't say I was scared of you."

Now I was the one who was confused.

My expression must have said so, because Sam released an exasperated sigh, the kind he always released before explaining information he thought to be obvious.

"I'm not scared **of **you Dean, I'm scared **for** you." He announced matter-of-factly, observing me expectantly behind glazed eyes.

"I'm worried." He summed up after I made no response.

I nodded, blinking away the gathering moisture in my eyes as I brought my attention back down to Sam's wounded arm.

God this kid.

Even shaky, exhausted, and in pain he could so easily rip my heart out with his blatant displays of love and concern.

Satisfied that I got the memo, Sam let the matter drop, his scattered ramblings coming to an end.

Once the bleeding had slowed sufficiently, I began to stitch the cut, apologizing every now and again when Sam hissed in discomfort.

I was careful with my ministrations, glad when the meds kicked in and my brother relaxed, the pain lines in his expression fading away.

"I'm going to save you Dean."

I looked at Sam's face, surprised to find a clarity there that hadn't been present since I found him bleeding out in that damn basement.

"You did Sam."

I thought we had already gone through this.

"No, not from that. From the mark. I'm going to save you De-. I promise."

I swallowed the lump that appeared in my throat at my brother's passionate declaration.

"I know you are Sammy." I responded, my voice thick with emotion that I couldn't swallow back.

The young man nodded, as though that was the reply he had been waiting for and instantly his body relaxed as his head fell back and he dropped off to sleep.

I instinctively checked Sam's pulse to be sure he hadn't passed out, satisfied that his unconscious state was nothing more than his exhaustion taking over, I went back to work.

As I deftly stitched my little brother's skin together, my mind raced in a number of directions, each one leading back to the only thing that mattered.

Sam.

I had to keep him safe, not only from me, but from himself.

He was hiding things from me.

I didn't know if it was because he felt he couldn't trust me, or because he was trying to protect me, likely a little bit of both if I knew Sam.

Either way, I had to protect him.

I had to make sure that my little brother didn't endanger himself trying to find a cure.

I had to make sure that the mark didn't take control of me and hurt Sam.

Whatever it took, I had to make sure that never happened.

Because even though I wanted to live, and even though I didn't want to throw away any time I had left to be with Sam; I couldn't let him get hurt.

Not _by_ me, and not _for_ me.

I would do anything to keep that from happening.

**Anything**.

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Note: Thanks for Reading! Please review/comment if you have an extra second, I'd really appreciate it! - Sam


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